


Between a Rock and a Hard Place

by Lucy (thatsmysky)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ace!Rey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I'll add more tags and warnings as I go along, M/M, Modern AU, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, abuse mention, abuse tw, but still, flash backs, no abuse happens its a flash back, please dont judge me but this is gonna hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsmysky/pseuds/Lucy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've had this idea bumbling around in my head for a while now, I figured I'd take a shot at writing it down.  Modern AU of basically all of TFA, but it'll deviate from canon pretty soon don't worry.  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission Improbable

**Author's Note:**

> wow that was a lot longer than I expected... hope you enjoyed it! Stay tuned for chapter 2!

    FN-2187 woke up to the usual grumbling of his troop-mates and the distant shouting of Captain Phasma breaking in the newest round of recruits. The grumbles were less annoyed than usual, as they should be he supposed, since today was their last day of apprenticeship. The men and women around him were less excited than they had been on their last day of basic training. They had been younger then - more full of hope, or at least less full of hate. Hate for the training, hate for the routine, and most importantly hate for the Resistance.

    Above all they were taught to hate the Resistance. The Resistance, who stood in the way of progress. The Resistance, who spread lies and fear to every innocent on the planet. The Resistance, who were the only thing stopping the First Order from finally bringing peace to the war-torn planet. FN-2187 hated them too. Or he was supposed to, and if there was one thing FN-2187 excelled at it was following orders and obeying the rules. It was his only goal; to excel in the eyes of his superiors so he would not be demoted or worse, removed. That was how things worked in the First Order. You were either at the top of your class, exalted by your superiors and hated by your troop, or you were not the top of your class, hated by your superiors and mainly ignored by your troop. FN-2187 choose the choice leading to less torture, although not by much.

    This was his life, this was who he was. He was FN-2187, soldier of the First Order. Today he would be promoted to troop-head, a title which was bound to bring him more grief from his troop. By being promoted, he would swear his life to the First Order (not that he had much choice). To kill for them, to die for them, to do anything and everything in his power to further their cause. It was thoughts like this that kept FN-2187 from speaking through the morning roll-call, and through their meager breakfast. He didn’t speak in morning drills, even when FN-2000 landed a particularly painful kick to his gut. FN-2187, or 87 as his fellow cadets had called him, was used to not speaking for the majority of the day. Usually he spent his time memorizing troop formations or the most efficient way to clean the standard-issue guns his troop had been given on their first day in training. Sometimes he brooded over training situations. He contemplated whether there would be a tactical advantage to ensuring his entire troop completed the mission alive, or if he should focus on completing the mission without consideration for those who fell behind. First Order policy was that the troop was only as strong as its weakest link, and helping that weakest link stay alive would destroy the First Order. FN-2187 would normally follow any and all First Order policy to a T, but this was his troop. They were his friends, or at least the closest thing to friends he had ever known. He didn’t want them to die.

    FN-2187 had been with the First Order for as long as he could remember. They told him it had been 22 years, and he believed them. He had no reason not to. Every one of those years had been leading up to this day; the day he would be granted his rank as officer and put in charge of his FN corp. All the troopers around him were practically laughing they were so excited. To be finally officers and to lead their own corps, free to take and make their own assignments to further the First Order’s cause. That was the dream of every child who came to the First Order. So why wasn’t FN-2187 excited with the rest of them?

    The ceremony went as expected. Flags were lowered by older officers, and raised by the new ones. Speeches were made by various high-ranking officials. Captain Phasma awarded each new officer their pauldrons, to signify that they were officially officers of the First Order rather than lowly soldiers After the ceremony things went back to normal. FN-2187 slept in the same bunk, ate the same food, trained the same way at the same times. His fellow troopers still gave him a hard time, although not as loudly around Captain Phasma as they used to. Finally, a week or so after the commencement ceremony, FN-2187 was called to the office of Captain Phasma, to be debriefed on his, and his team’s, first assignment.

    FN-2187 felt bemused. Their first mission. FN-2187’s first assignment as an officer. His first chance to lead. The first time he would have to make the decision between his troop and his mission. According to Phasma, they were going to a remote island to “restore order” after a member of the Resistance had been causing trouble. Captain Phasma did not expect much of a fight, but just in case she would also be sending Air Support in the form of one of the First Order’s most highly ranked officials - Kylo Ren. FN-2187 did not concern himself with this; his mission was to take the troop in by land and neutralize the situation before the members of the Resistance managed to escape. In his mind, there would be no need for air support, let alone highly ranked and mildly terrifying air support.

    FN-2187 stood at the front of his troop in their carrier ship heading toward the island they were to attack. No one was talking, but FN-2187 could tell they were excited to finally be out in the field serving the First Order. FN-2187 realized he wasn’t excited, he wasn’t even happy. He hadn’t been excited since the commencement, when he was promoted. This was the highest honor he could hope to achieve, yet he was... apathetic. He still hadn’t made his decision; to save his troop or to complete his mission. This shouldn’t be difficult, troopers were easily replaced- even Captain Phasma said so. Why would anyone bother to risk an entire mission to save one replaceable person? The bay doors were opening, so FN-2187 had to stop thinking to himself and focus on the mission as the alarm sounded that the ship had made landfall.

    Blinding light shone through the doors, filtered through the lenses in FN-2187’s helmet. The clunks his body armor made as he ran soon blended with the sounds of those around him, as well as shouts from the shore of the island and gunfire from both sides. FN-2187 didn’t take a moment to look around, didn’t hesitate, he threw himself into the action, charging with his troop faithfully shouting and following closely behind him. They ran until they reached a small village not far from the shore. The troop slowed to take in their surroundings as the gunshots in the distance slowly fell away. There were houses, if you could call them that. Huts made of sticks and leaves, some half buried to save on roofing or to shield from the heat. There wasn’t a native in sight.

    There was a shout from nearby as FN-2187’s radio buzzed to life. It was Captain Phasma reporting that another squadron had surrounded the natives, ordering FN-2187 and his squad were to assist them. FN-2187 motioned to the group and they were on the move again, over a ridge and into a small valley where several other soldiers were standing in a circle around a terrified group of natives. The islanders were trembling on their knees clearly surrendering. Behind them a helicopter landed in a gust of wind, and Kylo Ren stepped onto the island.

    “Fire at will!” he commanded. His voice was muffled by the mask he wore, but FN-2187 knew the command as though he has issued it himself. Standard protocol, eliminate the threat before they can spread the lies of the hateful Resistance. Shoot the islanders and your mission is complete. Kill them all and your first mission as a leader will have been a success. There was no issue, no debate. Yet, FN-2187 did not fire. He aimed his weapon at the group and put his finger on the trigger. He heard his squad around him firing, even thought he heard FN-2199 laugh. Even when FN-2187 noticed Kylo Ren looking at him FN-2187 could not bring himself to kill these innocent natives.

    Suddenly FN-2187 heard a shout from behind and instinctively ducked at the sound of a cannon firing nearby. His ears were ringing as FN-2187 turned to look for the source of the shout. A small man in a brown leather jacket was running toward the group with reckless abandon. His hair and clothes were covered in sand, as though he had been hiding near the village before the troops arrived, and his eyes burned with rage and determination.

    The First Order troops were caught in the middle, half of them were still facing the captives while the rest had turned to see this strange angry man come flying at them like he had nothing to lose and everything to gain from attacking each soldier with his bare hands. The soldiers who saw the man coming began firing, all except for FN-2187. He turned to find the rest of his troop and make sure they were firing upon the oncoming assailant.

    FN-2187’s troop was in the worst position for this fire fight. He knew this going in, but it was supposed to be an easy mission, an in-and-out mission. There weren’t supposed to be hostiles, there were barely supposed to be villagers. Now he could only watch as his men reacted to the changing situation as best as could be expected. FN-2199 threw himself wholeheartedly into shooting everything that wasn’t wearing their standard armor. He had always loved the action more than peacekeeping. FN-2000 seemed startled, although it was hard to tell beneath his helmet. He decided to keep his gun pointed at the villagers presumably to make sure none tried to escape in the turmoil. Finally FN-2187 turned to find FN-2003. FN-2003 had been caught off guard by the shouts and cannonfire, and was still standing looking for the source of the chaos.

    FN-2187 motioned for FN-2003 to get down, he even shouted although he knew his voice wouldn’t be heard over the gunfire. Still, FN-2003 found the crazy running man a few moments too late. FN-2187 didn’t hear FN-2003 shout, but he saw FN-2003 fall. It wasn’t in slow motion, and the fight around them hardly changed with the loss of one soldier. Captain Phasma’s words about how a team was only as strong as the weakest link rang in his mind as FN-2187 ran toward his fallen friend. He fell to his knees when he reached FN-2003. They used to call him Slip, because he always fell in agility training. FN-2187 pulled Slip’s helmet off gently while his friend gasped for air. Slip had always been pale, but now his skin was like paper. FN-2187 didn’t know what to say, his friend lay dying in his arms and the battle that raged around them was clearly already won. Slip gasped as he raised a bloody hand, as if he wanted to comfort FN-2187 for what was probably both the first and last time. His fingers left red streaks of blood on FN-2187’s helmet as Slip died.

    FN-2187 didn’t have time to mourn, he had barely reacted when Captain Phasma’s voice crackled through the radio for him to join formation. The rebel who had fired the cannon had been captured and they needed to finish the mission and get back to base. FN-2187 fell in with his fellow troopers, leaving Slip behind in the sand. The soldiers had circled the villagers again, only now Kylo Ren was escorting the rebel to his helicopter -apparently this member of the Resistance was going back to base with them.

    Captain Phasma gave the order to fire over the radio, and soon FN-2187’s thoughts were drowned out by the shouts of the villagers and the metallic banging of gunfire. Soldiers on either side of FN-2187 shot the villagers like it was target practice. FN-2187 did not join in. He didn’t join in when they dragged the dead villagers to the side of the island to be burned. He didn’t join in when they dragged Slip’s body to join the dead. He mutely followed as the went back to their ship and reboarded. When he arrived back on base Captain Phasma demanded his gun for regular inspection, to see how many rounds he had fired. He knew it would show zero, he knew this would send him into retraining and strip him of his rank. He didn’t care. He knew he should care, but he could barely control his breathing so his rank was not exactly at the top of his priority list. He needed to get away. He needed to be alone. FN-2187 walked as quickly as his could -running would draw attention he didn’t want- to the barracks.

    Once he was alone, FN-2187 took off his bloody helmet and gasped for breath. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he had been running for miles and couldn’t catch his breath. Sounds like the pounding of thousands of drums rang in his ears. It wasn’t until he grabbed his head in his hands that he realized the drums were his own heartbeat, loud enough to cancel out any noise around him. FN-2187 sank to the ground against a wall and tried to control his breathing, not concentrating on anything else.

    FN-2187 didn’t know how long he sat there. He did know, however, that he was in trouble as soon as he left the relative safety of the barracks. One of the many soldiers he passed in the hall told him not only had he missed the debrief, but that Captain Phasma was looking for him. That was never good.

    When he found her, Captain Phasma did not look pleased. She was holding FN-2187’s gun in her hands and standing perfectly still, as though she had never moved since he had given her his weapon at the end of the mission.

    “FN-2187” she said in her commanding tone. “You failed to fire your weapon on the mission today.” FN-2187 knew he wasn’t supposed to respond, but it took all his will power to restrain himself. He was suddenly so filled with hate, as though he had felt it all his life and only now knew it for what it was. He hated Phasma. Not only Phasma, he hated the whole First Order. FN-2187 had no idea what had brought this on, so he kept his mouth shut and stared straight ahead as Phasma began to walk slowly in a circle around him.

    “You failed to fire your weapon, FN-2187” Phasma repeated. “You did not follow my commands. You did not defend the First Order and you did not restore balance to the island you were sent to. I have no choice but to officially strip you of your rank and submit you to re-training. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” This last remark was made as Phasma completed her circuit around FN-2187 to stand before him again, still holding his gun. Up until this moment FN-2187 had kept his eyes trained unblinkingly forward. Now he turned his head ever so slightly to look Phasma in the eye, or at least where her eyes were beneath her helmet.

    “No Sir.” He said, turning his head back. Phasma did not respond. She merely walked around him and out of the room, leaving FN-2187 to await his new re-training officer.


	2. Pain Doesn't Discriminate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn does some of his re-training and Poe gets tortured. Nothing graphic, it's from Finn's PoV. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little chapter because I forgot that I had finals? And I got buried so there will be more later! I kinda planned on this being maybe a 5-chapter thing but it's looking like this is gonna be much longer and much sadder so I hope you're ready.

       FN-2187 dragged himself out of his bunk as the morning bell clanged in his ear. It was no use trying to see who was ringing the bell this morning, all officers took turns. This was the first part of his punishment for what Captain Phasma was calling “the incident on the island”. FN-2187 had disobeyed orders and not fired upon their hostages. As a result he was being re-trained, a long and arduous process where he was at the beck and call of his sadistic re-training officer. FN-2187 didn’t personally know any soldiers who had gone through this process; it wasn’t exactly common for someone to disobey the First Order. As it was, FN-2187 wasn’t sure what to expect from the ordeal.

  
      FN-2187 was woken up every morning by a cacophonous bell ringing and a fiendishly gleeful order to get out of bed from his re-training officer. He went through double drills supervised by his retraining-officer. If he did not do every drill perfectly he was forced to repeat it a third time. Once he had completed several repetitions of drills FN-2187 had been doing since he was a child, he was moved to the armory. The First Order had a massive armory, roughly the size of an aircraft hangar and overflowing with weapons. FN-2187’s punishment, in addition to the drills and being the laughing stock of the entire First Order, was to clean each and every weapon the First Order possessed.

  
      FN-2187 was roughly halfway through the handguns when he overheard his guards discussing someone they called ‘that scum’. FN-2187 could only assume they meant the prisoner they had taken aboard on his first -and possibly last- mission. The First Order had been lying low since then; apparently their prisoner was more important than anticipated and no one wanted a rescue mission storming their doors. According to the gossiping guards the scum wasn’t talking. All the First Order knew about him was that he was with the resistance, he was very important, and he was the one who had been shooting the First Order soldiers back on that island.

       A wave of hatred rushed over FN-2187. In his mind’s eye he saw the chaos on that island like he was there again. The noise, the shouts as his fellow soldiers defended themselves. The confusion as shots came from behind them, not knowing who they came from or even if they were supposed to fire back. Seeing FN-2003 get hit. Holding him while he died. This prisoner they were holding had done that. This prisoner had killed FN-2003.

  
      FN-2187 suddenly couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t stand to be cooped in this armory anymore. He needed to get out. He needed to move.  
Without thinking, he picked up the closest firearm and put on his helmet. He didn’t know where he was going until he was halfway to to cell block where he knew the prisoner was being held. FN-2187 ducked through the first door he saw to gather his thoughts. He needed a plan.

       Now out of sight and beginning to think rationally again, FN-2187 took off his helmet. He noticed he was in a sanitation closet and grabbed a nearby rag to wipe off his face. For some reason he was drenched in sweat. Across from him was a mop, the perfect sounding board to get him through whatever the hell it was he was going to do.

  
      “Ok, so the prisoner...” FN-2187 began, feeling only a little silly for talking to a mop. “He killed Slip. Thats... That’s not cool, right? Yeah that’s not good. So I gotta do something about that yeah?”

  
      Before the mop could answer with what would have certainly been astute advice, a blood-curdling scream from down the hall shook FN-2187’s concentration. While he didn’t recognize the screamer’s voice, FN-2187 didn’t have to guess what caused it. All prisoners taken by the First Order were questioned by a series of low-level officers (more for officer training than to gather intel) before they were put to the mercy of Kylo Ren.

  
      Ren had trained FN-2187 in basic interrogation techniques and procedure, a lesson that doubled as a check-in on soldiers’ training since they were both students and test subjects. FN-2187 could easily remember his own screams when the time came for his friends and Ren to test his training. All thoughts of revenge temporarily left FN-2187’s mind; no one deserved to be under the hand of Kylo Ren with no end in sight. FN-2187 turned back to his broom, to explain his leaving.

  
      “I gotta help him. He’s gonna die in there. What do you mean what am I gonna do with him? I don’t know! But I can’t just sit here and listen to him scream like that! No one deserves to-” Another scream broke FN-2187 from his one-sided conversation again, but this time it was followed by the thumping of boots leaving a cell and the creak of a cell door closing.

  
      “I need to get that guy out of here while he still has any mind left. Ok but a plan. He’s with the resistance, right? Maybe he knows a way to contact them and they can bust us out! Of course they’d take me with them, if I save his life. Then I can get out of this hell hole too. Awesome.” With his plan fresh in his mind, FN-2187 left his broom and his closet to save the resistance prisoner.


	3. One Zuegma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some plot actually develops, Poe meets a very handsome trooper and falls a lil in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poe is dazed (torture) and dazed (finn's face)
> 
> Super sorry for being so awfully inconsistent with my posting dates, so this chapter is a bit longer to make up for it! Please feel free to comment I love hearing your thoughts

     FN-2187 walked into the prisoner’s cell with far more authority than he felt. He dismissed the two guards with a brisk comment about their commander needing the prisoner. And so they were alone. The prisoner was strapped to a plank, held mostly upright by the straps around his head and chest. He seemed to be unconscious but he groaned when FN-2187 started to remove his restraints.

     Once the prisoner was completely free, FN-2187 realized he could barely stand. There was blood on his forehead and running down his face, and FN-2187 didn’t have to imagine what kind of procedure had been used to put it there. The First Order had been looking for information, and clearly the prisoner was not one to give up easily.

  
     FN-2187 lowered the prisoner to the floor to give him a chance to rest while FN-2187 got his shackles ready and went over his plan. It wasn’t overly complicated, in fact it was quite simple. Get the prisoner and get out. He knew the prisoner was a pilot, so he was hoping he could fly one of the First Order’s small fighter planes and get them out before anyone noticed they were gone. It was a big hope, considering the state the prisoner was in, but it was their only option.

     When FN-2187 had collected his thoughts and his handcuffs, the prisoner was sitting upright. He seemed a little dazed, but able to stand. FN-2187 felt a tinge of admiration for this poor man but he quickly squashed it. They had work to do.

* * *

     Poe couldn’t really figure out why this trooper had unshackled him just to put handcuffs back on, but he decided it wasn’t worth the time to figure it out. Obviously the First Order thugs who had been interrogating him for the last however long he’d been here had gotten sick of his lack of cooperation. So they were moving him, probably to a worse and more painful torture chamber for someone else to work out their sick fantasies on him in an attempt to get him to talk. Oh joy of joys.

     Poe had expected to be shoved to his feet after he fell from where he’d been strapped. He had expected to be shouted at, forced around like so much meat, and immediately taken to his next nightmare. He was not expecting to be allowed to rest on the floor, and certainly wasn’t expecting the helpful hand his guard offered to help him stand. He must be more concussed than he thought, no trooper would help a prisoner. Everyone in the Resistance was taught that they were all brainwashed from infancy, they weren’t allowed independent thought or action. Poe had almost felt sorry for them before he was captured. Now he felt nothing but contempt; his captors had even seemed to enjoy his suffering. Clearly the Resistance had been wrong, these troopers could think and they chose to think that the pain and suffering of their enemies was funny.

     This trooper must be an outlier, Poe decided. Or maybe this is some psychological test to see if he’d give any info up to a ‘friend’. That must be it. Poe resolved to tell this trooper nothing about the Resistance, spoil the First Order’s game where he could.

     The trooper had been walking Poe down a series of hallways while Poe was thinking. They seemed to be moving away from the cells, which seemed odd but no one ever said the First Order was logical. As Poe looked around he realized the trooper escorting him seemed nervous, as if he didn’t want be caught. Poe was about ready to chalk it up to first-torture jitters when the trooper suddenly pulled Poe into a closet and took off his helmet.

     The trooper had dark skin and deep brown eyes, the kind you could get lost in if you hadn’t been tortured for the last several hours. He was slightly out of breath and his skin glistened with sweat. Poe couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was vaguely aware that the trooper was saying something, rather urgently if the speed his mouth was moving was any indicator. The trooper’s face was incredibly animated; his eyes and mouth were fully invested in whatever it was he was trying to say. Poe had trouble pulling his eyes away until the trooper shook him a bit to get his attention.

     “Hey” the beautiful trooper said, looking worried. “You alright?”

     “Yeah!” Poe replied hurriedly, pulling his attention back to the situation at hand. “Yeah I’m fine... What were you saying?”

     The trooper gave Poe an even more concerned look that had Poe fighting not to get lost again.

     “I said I’m here to rescue you” the trooper replied and Poe’s brain went off again. This man was here to rescue him. Could it be possible? He wasn’t a Resistance plant, Poe would’ve recognized him. Was he lying? He didn’t look like he was lying. But Poe had only just met him and there was no way to tell.

     “Why?” Poe asked, hoping the trooper wouldn’t lie, hoping he actually wanted Poe to get free.

     “Because it’s the right thing to do.” Poe’s heart sank. That wasn’t true. That couldn’t be true. First Order troops were brainwashed, they didn’t have thoughts about ‘the right thing’, it wasn’t allowed. But then, the troopers torturing him had seemed to think for themselves. And despite himself Poe found that he wanted to believe this man at face value. He wanted to believe that this trooper really did want to help him. So he decided to play along.

     “You need a pilot.” Poe had intended to pose it as a question, but maybe his head wasn’t as close to normal as he thought. However, instead of the look of chagrin upon being caught in a lie Poe had expected from the trooper, he looked relieved.

     “I need a pilot” the trooper replied.


	4. It's Not What You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn and Poe make a break for it out of the First Order base. Some lips are bitten, some eyes are distracting, some guns are shot. It's a whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my father for his very in-depth and extensive knowledge of airplanes from WWII. Thank you to my lovely beta who knows how to spell and write and do most things better. Thanks to me for laughing at the word cockpit every time I wrote it. 
> 
> Short chapter, I know, but I feel bad for getting it out late so here's what I got.

     “Ok, so you’re a pilot” FN-2187 found himself saying. Thousands of thoughts were flying through his mind with each word. This man is a pilot, a Resistance pilot. He could probably fly one of those fighter planes FN-2187 knew the First Order kept in hangar 5. If this pilot could fly, he could get away. If he could get away from the First Order he might take FN-2187 with him. FN-2187 can escape the First Order! FN-2187 can be free!

     The pilot was staring at him. Actually looking FN-2187 in the eye. Suddenly FN-2187 couldn’t remember the last time someone had genuinely looked at him without some form of hatred or disgust, either from fellow troopers or from his superiors. It was distracting; the pilot had very deep brown eyes that made FN-2187 feel both like he was falling and very safe at the same time.

     FN-2187 shook his head. He couldn’t afford to get side-tracked right now, they had to get out.

     “Can you fly a P-38?” FN-2187 asked, trying to look anywhere but back in the pilot’s eyes.

     “I can fly anything,” he replied confidently, biting his lip and following FN-2187’s gaze toward the hallway. “We gonna break outta here? What’s the plan?”

     FN-2187 had a plan. Get to the hangar where the P-38s and other aircraft are kept. Get in a plane. Fly away. Shoot people if necessary. It wasn’t a complicated plan. Much to FN-2187’s surprise, the pilot didn’t seem to have any issues with this. He even helped FN-2187 make sure his handcuffs looked right while making some lewd comment FN-2187 tried not to think about. He had to focus; he had to get out.

     Getting to the hangar had fewer complications than FN-2187 had expected. With his helmet back on and the pilot handcuffed and subdued, they looked like a simple prisoner transport. They managed to get all the way through the hangar to where the P-38s were parked and set one of the nicer planes to idle before anyone questioned their intentions.

     As it was, FN-2187 was helping the pilot out of his handcuffs while their chosen plane was idling when a guard shouted at them from across the hangar.

     “Hey, where do you think you’re going?!” the guard cried, drawing the attention of everyone in the area. “That aircraft is not authorized for departure! Get down from there!”

     Instead of allowing the pilot to answer with the witty comeback FN-2187 just knew was at the tip of his tongue, FN-2187 shoved him into the cockpit and jumped in after. FN-2187 tossed his helmet out of the plane just before the roof closed above him. The pilot was laughing and taking off his jacket, although the laughter stopped when the first bullets started hitting the plane.

     “Let’s get out of here!” he shouted over the roar of the engines. FN-2187 didn’t respond.

     The plane had clearly been modified at some point to allow the pilot to both fly the plane and fire the forward-facing gun. As a result, the trigger and mechanisms were situated between the pilot’s legs. The sound of bullets ricocheting off their little plane didn’t allow FN-2187 the luxury of hesitating on considering the pilot’s reaction. He put his pride aside and funneled himself onto the floor of the cockpit between the pilot’s legs and familiarized himself with the scope and trigger, putting his attention anywhere but the pressure of the pilot’s legs against his back.

     “Well then,” the pilot said, sounding slightly flummoxed although FN-2187 didn’t have room to turn and gauge his reaction. “Let’s get this show on the road!” the pilot exclaimed as he disengaged the brakes and set the plane rolling.

     Unsurprisingly, the bullets did not stop raining on them, if anything they became more insistent. FN-2187 tried to aim the plane’s considerable weapon at their attackers but he couldn’t focus with the pilot’s knees digging into his back. They brought back painfully specific memories of ‘training drills’ and various ways he had had his loyalty ‘checked’ and ‘reinforced’ throughout his years as a part of the First Order. By the time they were out of the hangar FN-2187 was shaking but he was also finally free.


	5. Beside Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FN-2187 and the Unnamed Pilot make it out of the First Order Base (mostly) unscathed. A cockpit defies the laws of physics for the sake of the plot. FN-2187 has a panic attack. 
> 
> TW Panic Attack in this chapter

   In order for both FN-2187 and the pilot to sit in the cockpit and still manage to get the plane in the air, FN-2187 was doubled over with his feet straight in front of him. The plane’s gun so close to his face was the only thing keeping him from folding completely in half. The pilot’s feet were on either side of FN-2187, situated now so his feet could still reach the pedals without his knees holding FN-2187 down.

   Once they had pulled free of the hangar and into the air FN-2187 was able to focus. The pilot shifted his legs, muttering something about wishing there was a second seat. In an attempt to ignore the knees pressing into him on either side, FN-2187 leaned forward slightly to examine the gun in front of him in more detail. 

   The gun had a small scope attached to it, allowing for precision firing, and could turn slightly in every direction. The grip was standard First Order issue, the same in almost every plane they had. FN-2187 had been trained in these weapons during his first round of training, although he had not gotten to clean the fighter planes as part of his re-training. He knew how to fire, he knew how to aim, and he knew exactly what would happen to the things he hit. It was like second nature to him, FN-2187 thought as he wrapped his hand around the gun’s butt and lined his eye up to the scope.

   Looking down the scope of his weapon, FN-2187 muttered a curse under his breath. If the pilot’s louder, more colorful swearing was anything to go by, he had noticed their visitors as well; several smaller airplanes had surrounded them. While FN-2187 was trying to figure out exactly how many of them there were, a barrage of bullets descended upon them from every angle. Without warning the pilot threw their plane into a dive, but FN-2187 was already in fight-mode. His eye was to the sight of the plane’s gun and every nerve was at attention, as he searched the air for a target to remove from their path. 

   As FN-2187 pulled the trigger, decimating a First Order plane, his pilot let out a whoop and clapped FN-2187 on the shoulder hard enough to knock his face into the scope he was using. At first FN-2187 was annoyed by his enthusiasm, but as the fight went on and they shot plane after plane out of the air FN-2187 began to join the pilot’s cheers. Together they cheered as they pulled away from the First Order’s airspace, leaving the smoke of destroyed airplanes in their wake. 

   Once they had been flying for a while without any sign of the First Order, FN-2187 felt comfortable enough to relax and move his face away from the scope of his gun. He tried to lean back and stretch, but with the pilot’s hands above him and legs on either side there wasn’t much he could do. Recognizing this, the pilot punched in coordinates for their destination and set the plane on autopilot. Once the pilot could let go of the controls, he pulled the lever under his seat to move it to the rear of the cockpit, allowing FN-2187 the space to sit up straight and turn around. Despite this, they were very close together, their knees brushing as FN-2187 crossed his legs. 

   With their faces only a foot or two apart, it began to dawn on FN-2187 that he had just kidnapped a First Order prisoner, stolen a First Order plane, shot down several other First Order planes without a thought, and was now presumably on the way to a Resistance Base. The horrible realization of what he had done poured over FN-2187. 

   The world was spinning. The cockpit was too small, the gun was too close against his back, the pilot was too close for comfort, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air. FN-2187 gasped, taking fast shallow breaths. Waves of fear flowed over him. He felt like he was drowning. There were no thoughts in his head anymore, just a constant stream of everything he had done and where he had gone wrong and how he would never get away. He wanted to get away, he wanted to run, he couldn’t move. 

   Something heavy touched FN-2187’s arm for a moment, jolting him from his internal spiral and making him look up. The pilot was leaning forward with his hand resting on FN-2187’s upper arm to steady him. It was only then FN-2187 realized he had been shaking. The pilot was speaking, but it took FN-2187 more than a moment to understand what he was saying.

   “Hey. Listen to me. You’re safe. We are in the cockpit of a plane” he kept repeating in a soothing voice. His eyes never left FN-2187’s. He continued to speak in the same calm voice, seeing that FN-2187 was now trying to pay attention. 

   “I’m Poe. Thank you for rescuing me. We’re safe now. You did amazing. You can get through this. What do you need?” He now sat in silence while FN-2187 struggled to get his breathing under control. He did not let go of FN-2187’s arm. After a few moments it became clear that FN-2187 did not have enough breath to speak, let alone answer the pilot’s -Poe’s- question. He squeezed FN-2187’s arm slightly, reminding him he was still there. 

   “Ok. Ok. You can’t talk right now, that’s ok. Can you nod?” FN-2187 took a second, then nodded slightly. He absently noticed that he had stopped shaking since the pilot had squeezed his arm. FN-2187 patted the other man’s hand and concentrated on trying to breathe and listen to what the pilot was saying. 

   “Ok. You can nod, that’s good. You can get through this. Now, I’m going to count to 5. I want you to breathe in the whole time I’m counting. Can you do that? Nod if you can.” FN-2187 took a shaky breath and nodded slightly. 

   “Ok. Good. Now, 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... awesome.” FN-2187 exhaled and shuddered. The pilot was not done, though, and kept talking. 

   “Ok. You’re doing great. I’m going to count to 5 a few times now. I want you to breathe in for 5 and then out for 5. Over and over. Can you do that?” Once again FN-2187 nodded, more confident this time. 

   FN-2187 wasn’t quite sure how many times the pilot repeated his counting, but eventually his breathing slowed. The cockpit returned to its normal size. The list of all that he had done wrong stopped repeating in his head, and all he had to concentrate on was the pilot’s soothing voice counting and his steady hand on FN-2187’s arm. 

   As the fog in FN-2187’s mind cleared, he suddenly realized he very sleepy, as though he had just run a marathon in full body armor. He barely noticed when the pilot helped him lay on the floor of the cockpit comfortably while somehow still having room for the pilot to reach the controls. The last thing FN-2187 heard before falling asleep was the murmur of the engines as autopilot was disabled and they began to prepare for landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my father once again for teaching me way more about planes than I would ever need to use in real life. Thank you dad for the flying lessons and the trips to so many museums, it really helped figure out the setting for this fanfiction you'll never read. 
> 
> Many thanks to my beautiful Beta Nicole, as well as my Guest Beta Emi. Y'all's snark and comments made this so much more enjoyable to write.
> 
> Finally thank you to College for keeping me so busy that I could not update for literal months.


	6. Naps and Names for All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets a name and a nap.

When FN-2187 woke up it was dark and unnaturally quiet. After a few bleary moments he realized he was still in the cockpit of the plane. It was clearly night, and they had apparently landed some time before, because the pilot was nowhere to be seen. As FN-2187 sat up to look around he felt something heavy slide off his back. Upon further inspection FN-2187 recognized it as the pilot’s jacket. It had apparently been draped over his torso while he was asleep. 

FN-2187 stood up, stretching his arms through the open roof of the plane. He tossed the jacket onto the plane’s wing as he twisted through some basic stretches. Sitting through a fire-fight in a cramped cockpit that was never designed for two people and then sleeping in such an odd position for who knows how long had done a number on FN-2187’s back and joints. 

Mildly stretched, FN-2187 hopped out of the cockpit and slid down the plane’s wing, grabbing the jacket on his way down. He landed softly in tan sand. The plane was in the sand as well, and judging by the depth the wheels had sunk they had been here for a few hours at least. The pilot was still missing. FN-2187 took the opportunity to stretch a little more and go through some familiar exercises to get the lasts of the kinks out of his legs and back. First Order training drills emphasized consistent and efficient routines that optimized the soldiers’ musculature but required the least amount of instruction. They had also performed these drills as a unit for as long as FN-2187 could remember. As a result, he didn’t need to devote much brain space to the task at hand, giving him the time to think through the events of the last day-had it really only been a day? 

He had disobeyed the First Order, rescued a Resistance pilot, and shot down a good portion of the First Order’s on-hand planes with him. He had panicked, and been talked through that panic by the Resistance pilot... Had he learned his name? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that in the span of a few hours he had managed to completely uproot himself and turn his back on everything he had grown up with. 

Suddenly FN-2187 felt a wave of weariness wash over him. He had just woken up, but the events of the last -was it 24 hours? More? He didn’t know- were catching up with him. After a quick check around the plane he decided the best thing to do was try to sleep until the pilot came back. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him of all the First Order training that taught him to never let his guard down in an unfamiliar area but he ignored it. The only place nearby with any protection or shelter was under the plane, so that was where he set up his makeshift camp.

Sitting down in the sand made FN-2187 painfully aware that he was still wearing his trooper uniform and armor. He took off the plating for his arms, legs, and torso and placed them in a rough ring around him. Maybe they would fall over and wake him up if someone tried to sneak up on him, but most importantly they weren’t digging into his skin anymore. Finally, he balled up the pilot’s jacket and used it for a pillow. Although it was not the most comfortable conditions, he was asleep again within moments. 

This time, FN-2187 did not wake up alone or in the dark. The first thing he registered when he tried to open his eyes was that one was not cooperating. He tried to rub the affected eye, only to be nearly completely blinded by pain. His right eye was swollen shut and the area surrounding it was incredibly tender. The next thing he realized was the he was not alone. He must have shouted out in pain, because the pilot appeared in his field of vision with a concerned look on his strangely weary face. 

“Geez, you’ve got a killer black eye there,” the pilot said. He had an accent FN-2187 couldn’t quite place. Did all members of the Resistance sound like him? Where was he from? Before FN-2187 could ask, the pilot was talking again.

“I bet you knocked it on the scope of that snipe in the plane yesterday. No wonder you look so banged up, it was a crazy fight and that plane was never made for two people. I’m glad I had you there though, I never would have made it out alive without you. Have I thanked you yet? For rescuing me? Because thank you, seriously you saved my life.” FN-2187 didn’t know how to respond; his brain was still slowly coming online after sleeping for however long it had been. The pilot seemed more than capable of filling the silence for him though. “I’m sorry I left you here alone last night,” the pilot continued, “I needed to scout the area and make sure we weren’t followed. I also needed to see how close we were to where I had wanted to go. I wasn’t quite at my best when we were flying out of that First Order Hell Camp.” He stopped now, looking at FN-2187 like he finally realized he was the only one talking. “I’m sorry if I’m overwhelming you. You don’t even really know me. You saved my life and I owe you for that, but I don’t even know your name.” At this the pilot looked at FN-2187 expectantly, and for a moment FN-2187 didn’t know what to say.

“FN-2187” he managed to croak out after a moment. His throat was very dry, probably from sleeping for hours in the sand. 

“FN-21... what? What kind of name is that?” The pilot asked looking bewildered.

“It’s the only one they ever gave me” FN-2187 replied. He didn’t bother feeling ashamed, although it seemed the pilot expected him to be. Every First Order Trooper had a number and most had nicknames, but FN-2187 had never been close enough with any of them to earn one. 

“Well I ain’t callin’ you that” the pilot said decisively. “FN, huh? How ‘bout Finn?”

FN-2187 considered it for a moment. Finn. It wasn’t a bad name. It was much better than any of the ones he had attempted to get his troop-mates to adopt back before he realized they simply didn’t want to include him. In fact, Finn was an excellent name. “Finn,” he said, letting the word roll off his tongue. “Yeah, Finn, I like that! What’s yours?”

“I’m Poe” the pilot replied, sticking out his hand for Finn to shake. “Thank you for saving my life Finn. Let’s get you some water.”

Finn took Poe’s outstretched hand and let Poe help him stand from the small dune he’d been lying in. Together they ducked out from under the plane and into the desert sun, walking toward the makeshift camp Poe must have set up while Finn slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! This is..really late, and I don't have an excuse. Enjoy!


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